Swan Song
by horrendoushaddock
Summary: AU. Oneshot. Guilt and alcohol do not sit well together.


**A/N:** A oneshot set in a friend's AU, wherein Edward was made human, and a series of events, fortunate and unfortunate alike, follow.

* * *

 **Swan Song**

Jacob isn't home when Edward shuffles into his bedroom, leaving three empty beer bottles behind on the kitchen table. There's a fourth, half-drained and on its side, teetering at the sink's edge. Jacob's room isn't the tidiest; the bed isn't made, and there are clothes on the floor and hanging out of drawers. In the short time they've been living together, this isn't the worst condition Edward has seen this room, but in this particular moment, it bothers him. This is likely because he should have taken care of cleaning it before he decided it would be a good idea to drink.

The beer had been easier to acquire than wine. It would turn out that clerks at convenience stores weren't quite so anal about ID. The man behind the counter hadn't even asked for any form of identification as he rang the six pack through. Leaving the store, Edward had told himself he'd save it for another day, but when he'd come home to an empty apartment, the temptation had been strong.

And he knew now that resisting temptation was not his strongest suit.

One beer had turned into two, into three. Numbed and sick, he realized halfway through the fourth bottle that he didn't want or need anymore of the drink. He didn't particularly enjoy the taste, but he could learn to desire its effects.

He had intended to go to the living room and to the couch, but somehow found his way to Jacob's room instead. Possibly because he had remembered through the fog in his mind that he had promised the shapeshifter he would tidy the room up for him. Jacob would be upset and disappointed when he came home and inevitably found him drunk, so it would be the least he could do to at least try to keep his word and clean the room.

He starts by tugging loose the clothes that are hanging from drawers that had been closed haphazardly. He's fairly certain these clothes aren't dirty, that they had been pulled out of their placement in haste. Folding the items proves to be a little more challenging than he had expected, as no matter which way he attempts the task, the shirt or pants never look quite right. He settles eventually, and tells himself that his clumsy folding job is better than leaving things as they had been found. When there is nothing left pouring out of the dresser itself, he moves on to the articles of clothing on the floor.

Even drunk, Edward's logic dictates that anything on the floor is likely meant to be washed. He picks up a pair of jeans and three socks, and pauses in his motions to look around the room as carefully as he can at the moment to try and find the missing item. He doesn't spot it right away, and so he assumes it may have been kicked under the dresser or bed. He places the laundry on top of the bed, getting down to his knees clumsily, heavily, and peering under the dresser first. He finds the sock, pulls it out, tosses it into the pile on the bed.

It's a whim that makes him decide to check under the bed anyway, just in case. There are no clothes hiding there, but there is an old shoebox. Something in the back of his hazy mind tells him that there are no shoes inside that box. That same thing whispers that whatever is inside is not for him. But he's curious, and his judgement is impaired, and so he reaches for it and pulls it out into the open.

He kneels there for a long moment with the box sitting between his thighs. There's a thick layer of dust on the lid, and he realizes that this box had most likely been shoved under the bed when Jacob first moved in, and then it was never touched again. Whatever is inside, it's something Jacob either loves very much, or wants to forget about entirely. Maybe both. Edward pulls the lid off, places it aside and sifts carefully through the contents. Nothing in particular stands out to him, except a single photograph at the very bottom of the box. It's old and worn, but familiar faces smile at him from behind the wearing gloss of the image.

He recognizes Billy Black and a younger Jacob standing beside him easily enough. Then his eyes wander to the others in the photograph; a man and his daughter. Ten or so years has done nothing to change Charlie Swan, and so Edward's eyes skirt over him, then focus on the girl standing at his side. He doesn't need to flip the photograph over and see the scrawl on the back to know her name is Bella.

Up until this moment, she had just been a mistake - someone who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But now that it seemed she had known Jacob in her youth, this changed everything.

He stands on uneasy legs, but only makes it as far as Jacob's bed. He sits down there, with the old picture pinched tightly between trembling fingers, eyes fixed on Bella's young face.

He remembers.

The ghost of her scent comes back to him, and it's in this moment he realizes he'll never be able to forget it. The smell of her had made him weak and mad with primal and predatory desire, and no matter how hard he had tried to resist the song of her blood, it had not been good enough. It had been almost too easy to lure her, the new and lonely girl, away from the small group of teenagers who could have been her friends if they had been given more time together.

She had been so nervous to be alone with him - though, he wouldn't be able to tell a soul why. It had been the strangest thing, but he couldn't hear her thoughts. As he thinks of her now, he supposes that had been a saving grace. He remembers the way she had screamed as he bit into her, the way she struggled to beg and bargain with him. Her words fell on deaf ears as her flesh had given way so easily to his teeth. He gorged himself on her then, drinking all he could of her until there was nothing worthwhile left. He remembers the way she tasted, and no words could have possibly described how perfect and succulent she had been in that moment. But now the memory makes his stomach lurch and its contents roil sickly.

Guilt and alcohol do not sit well together.

* * *

When Jacob comes home, he's instantly aware of the stench of alcohol and vomit. He finds the bottles on the table first, then sees the one on the counter. He tries to tell himself not to worry too much; this was bound to happen. Edward is still learning to be human all over again, and he had expressed interest in alcohol. However, it seems it had been a better outcome when he hadn't been able to purchase the wine that had caught his interest.

He makes his way through the apartment slowly, and finds Edward in his bedroom. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a picture in one shaking hand. The wastebasket Jacob keeps by his nightstand is by Edward's feet, and it reeks of poorly processed and regurgitated alcohol.

"Edward?" he asks, and then he sees the shoebox. His jaw clenches, and the little hairs on the back of his neck bristle. "What are you doing in here?"

"I'm sorry," Edward apologizes quietly.

 _He's drunk_ , Jacob tells himself, and he reasons that Edward most likely doesn't know how to _be_ drunk. He makes excuses for him, convinces himself not to be angry that the former vampire went through some of his more personal belongings.

"It's fine," he says and steps closer, bends to pick up the shoebox.

"Did you know her?" Edward asks, and Jacob looks up to see him holding the photograph out toward him, but not quite _to_ him.

Jacob is quite for a moment, and when he replies, there's a heaviness in his voice. "Yeah. We sort of grew up together. Our dads were good friends."

He makes an effort to grab for the picture. Edward is reluctant to let it go.

"I'm sorry," Edward repeats.

Jacob can smell Edward's budding anxiety, and he's starting to worry there's more than alcohol at play here. He thinks maybe Edward is just being sympathetic now that he knows Jacob knew the murdered daughter of the police chief.

"It's alright," the shapeshifter says, and he's finally able to tug the picture out of Edward's grip.

"It's - it's not alright," Edward mumbles.

Jacob puts the picture back in the box, and sets it all aside on the dresser. "Edward - just - it's fine, okay? Don't worry about it."

Edward is staring at the floor as he speaks. "No one deserves to die like that."

Suddenly there's a tightness in the pit of Jacob's stomach, and a heat beginning to ripple through his body. "What do you mean?"

"Torn apart," Edward is still mumbling. "Sucked dry."

Most of the beer is in the waste basket now, Jacob realizes, so it's not as simple as a drunken stupor that's making Edward slur his words like this.

"How do you know that?" Jacob asks, heart pounding inside his chest, and the beast within is trying to claw its way out. "How do you _know_ that?" he's repeating the question before Edward even has a chance to answer it the first time. Charlie hadn't released the details of his daughter's murder to the public. Those grisly details had been a secret shared only between the chief of police, Billy and himself.

Edward looks up at him, and his eyes are wet. "I'm sorry."

Jacob takes a moment to understand what Edward is saying, to come to terms with this confession. He wants to hate him - not so much because he killed a girl he used to know, but because everything he had ever heard about Edward's kind was true. The Cullens put themselves on a pedestal, took pride in their supposed alternative lifestyle, but in the end they were all still only monsters. They could pretend and resist for so long, but it would never be enough.

He should have known, and he wants to hate him. He wants to call his father and Seth and expose Edward for the terrible thing he is. But something stronger than hate reasons with him that he can't do that, he has to calm down and at least try to understand - because there is more than just murder laid out before him here.

The beast is still trying to tear its way out, but he breathes deep and tries to soothe it.

"What happened?" he asks, and his tone is sharper than he intends.

His question surprises Edward, and the human knits his brow together in confusion. "What do you mean what happened? I killed her." Saying it out loud to Jacob makes him want to throw up again.

Jacob flinches at the words, but forces himself to sit next to Edward. Not too close, but close enough. "Why? Your… family isn't _like_ that. You don't just go around eating people."

Edward is quiet for a few moments, and when he finally answers, he's looking at the floor again. "They're called Singers. All humans have their own scent, but some are unique to individual vampires," he explains, brow furrowing once more. "They're practically irresistible."

Jacob sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He thinks maybe he should cut it again. "And Bella was yours?"

Edward nods. "I couldn't help myself." It's a terrible excuse, but it's the only one he honestly has.

Jacob understands, but that doesn't make any of this any easier. He's still angry and hurt and disgusted, but that thing inside him that's bound him to Edward tells him _he didn't mean it_ and _if he could have stopped, he would have_. And he knows this is true, but it's still going to take time to let the dust of this mess settle.

"Okay," he says, but Edward knows it's not.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again, knowing full well that it's not enough. Not right now.

Jacob sighs and stands, nudges the dirty waste basket with his foot. "Clean this out," he says, and starts toward the threshold of the room. "And throw those bottles in the kitchen away. This place stinks of beer and puke."

And just like that, the conversation's over.

Jacob leaves the room, then the apartment, and that leaves Edward alone with his guilt.

As he's cleaning out the basket, he remembers there's still half a bottle of beer in the kitchen, and maybe solace is waiting for him at the bottom of it.


End file.
